


Comfort

by taranoire



Series: FenHawke Drabbles [5]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-17
Updated: 2015-02-17
Packaged: 2018-03-13 11:21:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3379673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taranoire/pseuds/taranoire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>number 5: Fenris wakes up in Hawke's bed and is not afraid.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Comfort

**Author's Note:**

> The first night, Fenris didn't allow himself to get comfortable in Hawke's bed. Comfortable beds were dangerous. Allowing another to see you in your most vulnerable state took intimacy. He had recalled how in the past, that had been used against him, because he was just so tired and the silky sheets & plush pillows were so comfortable. Fenris wouldn't allow himself to be lured into another trap. But the second time, in Hawke's arms, his heart beating against Fenris' back, his eyes became heavy...

…and he woke up, with a start, to the unwelcome light of day streaming through high windows. Momentary confusion left him wondering just where he was, panic beginning to flutter weakly in his chest and then more urgently when he realized there was a body next to his, strong, heavy, hot at his back, arm around his waist. But this was Hawke’s bed, Hawke’s strong embrace, Hawke’s breath in his hair.

Fenris sighed. He closed his eyes and nuzzled briefly down deeper in the blankets, in the warmth, calming himself down. He was safe. He had slept in a man’s bed, had not been harmed, had not been used, had not even had a bad dream. He was safe.

He felt Hawke stir behind him. And then, in a voice raspy and low with sleep, there were words at his pointed ear, gentle as the dawn itself. “Morning, Fen.”

Fen.

That ridiculous pet name. Though, Fenris was no longer a pet, was no longer a thing to be used. When Hawke said his name, or any variation thereof, his chest did not tighten in fear, or in contempt; he was prideful, to be deserving of that kind of affection, especially when it came from Hawke. Hawke, who generally spoke with his actions, not his words. When Hawke loved you he would be vulnerable with you.

Fenris chuckled, more for his own benefit—laughing at his own idiotic fascination for concepts that were once entirely foreign to him, like nicknames, or waking up wrapped in the arms of a lover. He was slowly warming up to the idea that this was real.

He twisted so that he could turn to face him, could look at him.

Hawke was…softer, in the morning. Older. His eyes, golden-brown like a field of wheat in the summer, contained all of the emotions and fears he tried so hard to keep at bay. Keep hidden, so that he might keep others safe. He was beautiful.

"Good morning," Fenris said softly.

Hawke gazed at him with gentle, quiet heat, and although Fenris could not read his thoughts, he knew there were unspoken questions and needs there: above everything else, a whisper of you’re still here. You’re with me and alive and here.

Fenris gave a crooked smile, and kissed him, slow and warm. They had hours.

They could take their time.


End file.
